


Broken Bowstring

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Exploration of Questionable Canon Decisions, Found Family, Fuck the Church, Gen, nonbinary byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: "I don't think Cyril is getting paid," Shamir remarks.Catherine looks up, her mouth full of toast, potatoes, and coffee. "Muh?"





	Broken Bowstring

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty shipless, but like, it's catherine and shamir. i can't not make them flirt a little. anyway cyril is good and deserves better

Shamir notices first, because of course she does. Catherine notices second, because Shamir tells her.  
  
It's over breakfast. Neither of them have first-hour classes, so they've made it a tradition to eat together, while most of the other professors are teaching. It means that the hall is mostly empty, and the quiet is a small price to pay for being stuck with whatever's left over from breakfast.  
  
"I don't think Cyril is getting paid," Shamir remarks.  
  
Catherine looks up, her mouth full of toast, potatoes, and coffee. "Muh?"  
  
"Think about it," Shamir says. "The students sometimes do chores for extra credit, but they're students. Cyril is about the right age, but he works ten times as much as any of them do, and _he's_ not getting an education out of it."  
  
Catherine wipes the crumbs from her mouth with the cuff of her jacket and furrows her brow. "You know," she realizes. "I think you're right, now that I think about it."  
  
Shamir arches a brow. "Oh? What tipped you off?"  
  
"Well, a few weeks ago," she begins. "Cyril went with me into town. Well, we were going to the same place— he was checking on a bulk order for the infirmary and I needed some pain herbs that Manuela was out of, and he didn't mind if I walked with him."  
  
"That sounds like Cyril."  
  
"Doesn't it?" Catherine chuckles. "Anyway, I noticed him lingering beside the neighboring shop, looking at something in the display. And do you know what it was, Shamir?"  
  
"I have a feeling you're about to tell me."  
  
"_Pastries_," Catherine says, leaning in despite the fact that Cyril isn't there. "Cyril knows full well that essentials are already covered by the Church. If Lady Rhea paid him, if she insisted, then he would know that it was his to spend. So, if he wanted something— say, some tasty-looking raspberry scones— then he would just go ahead and buy them."  
  
Shamir nods. "I see, I see. So you agree."  
  
"That he's not getting paid? Yeah, thought that was obvious."  
  
"Not just that," she says, shaking her head. "That he _should_ get paid."  
  
Catherine considers this. "Well… if Lady Rhea doesn't see the need…"  
  
Shamir leans across the table and thumps her. "Think for yourself for once," she says. "Forget about Rhea. You like to get paid for teaching, right?"  
  
"Doesn't everyone?"  
  
"And if you spent all day doing chores, then you'd want to be paid for that, too, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"So do you see my point?"  
  
It dawns on her. "_Ohhhh_, _oh_-kay. Right. Yeah."  
  
Shamir nods in satisfaction. "I knew you could do it."  
  
"Let's ask Lady Rhea together," Catherine suggests. "I'm sure if we present our case, then she'll understand."  
  
Shamir hesitates, but nods. "Doesn't hurt to try that first."  
  
"Huh? What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
—  
  
"… So, you see, Lady Rhea," Catherine finishes. "It's only right to pay Cyril for all the work he does. Don't you agree?"  
  
Rhea smiles serenely. "Oh, sweet Catherine," she says. "It's so very kind of you and Shamir to think of Cyril like this. _'Blessed by the Goddess are those who seek to spread blessings unto others.'"_  
  
"Certainly," Shamir agrees, while Catherine preens. If she had a tail, it would be wagging. "But do you agree?"  
  
"I agree completely with the thought behind your request," Rhea replies. "But you see, your concern, while sweet, is unfounded. The Church of Seiros already provides for any material need Cyril may have. He is fed, sheltered, clothed— and through work, he learns firsthand how the Goddess blesses those that serve Her."  
  
Shamir narrows her eyes, just a little. "I see."  
  
"So, then," Rhea says, smiling at both of them in turn. "Does that assuage your worries, my dears?"  
  
"Thank you, Lady Rhea," Catherine says, bowing her head. "Your kindness truly knows no bounds."  
  
"And Shamir?" Rhea looks to her.  
  
"This does answer my question, yes," Shamir nodded. "Thank you."  
  
—  
  
Catherine smiles blithely. "That went well!"  
  
"Oh, sure, neither of us were excommunicated," Shamir replies. "But all of that was just a fancy way of saying that Cyril isn't getting paid, and she has absolutely no intention of paying him at all."  
  
"You know there's more to life than a salary, Shamir," Catherine says matter-of-factly.  
  
Shamir groans. "What is the matter with you? Every time you see Rhea, it's like you forget what it's like to use your brain!"  
  
"I use my brain just fine," Catherine protests.  
  
"Then _use it_," Shamir replies. "Sometimes, Catherine, people tell lies. And believe it or not, Rhea is just a person, like you or me. She's just a person with a pretty title and a fancy hat."  
  
Catherine folds her arms. "If Lady Rhea didn't like you so much, I'd cut you down for heresy."  
  
"I'd like to see you try." Shamir sighs. "Well, then, it seems I'm not going to get your help. Fine."  
  
"Fine," Catherine agrees. "See if I care."  
  
—  
  
Catherine does care. She cares a lot. She cares enough, in fact, that she asks for help.  
  
"So," she says to Professor Byleth, whom Catherine has always found to be a good listener. "I'm gonna present this hypothetical to you. Complete theory, of course. Just, uh, scholarly curiosity."  
  
They nod. Others find them unnerving— Catherine supposes she can see why. They're young, but they feel much older. They rarely smile, rarely speak, and stare at everything with the same blank gaze. Their eyes are big and blue, and seem bigger for how little their mouth moves, and their ears stick out from the sides of their head. Nonetheless, Byleth is a good teacher, and obviously they have to be doing something right if Lady Rhea trusted them with a teaching position.  
  
"So, say there's this kid," Catherine begins. "He's a good kid. Hardworking. Dedicated. He came from a pretty bad situation, and the, uh, person who helped him out did so by giving him a job. It's a pretty good deal, since it means he's not worried about food or finding somewhere to sleep, but…"  
  
Byleth nods, encouraging her to go on.  
  
"Well, he works a lot," she says. "But the thing is, he doesn't get paid for it, and his boss doesn't think he needs it, because he has all his material needs covered. And I want to believe that, too, but… I dunno, Professor, I just can't. Sh— uh, say, _hypothetically_, a friend who I trust, who also knows this kid, pointed out to me that if it were me, working that much, I'd want to be paid for my time and labor, too. And as much as I _want_ to believe L— uh, I mean, the aforementioned boss, who also happens to be my boss, and I've freely dedicated myself to her, it just… I can't stop thinking about what this other friend pointed out to me. I'm just not sure who to believe."  
  
She nods to Byleth. "So, what do you think?"  
  
Byleth considers this. They consider this for a while, sipping their tea thoughtfully.  
  
"I think," they finally say. "That's a little fucked up, Catherine."  
  
"Fucked up like how?" Catherine frowns. "Like, fucked up that Sha— this friend is getting me to question my devotion, or fucked up that the kid isn't getting paid?"  
  
"The latter."  
  
"Huh." Catherine scratches her head. "Well, great. Now I'm even more confused."  
  
Byleth shrugs. "Sorry."  
  
"Nah, it did help," Catherine promises. "It's good to have a second opinion. Thanks for your advice, Professor."  
  
Byleth nods politely. Their expression doesn't change, but Catherine's talked to them long enough that she can recognize their particular way of smiling.  
  
—  
  
Shamir's on other business the next morning, so Catherine eats alone. In the afternoon, Cyril walks with her into town again.  
  
"One of the boxes from the shipment is unaccounted for," Cyril tells her, when she asks. "Manuela asked me to ask the guy if it got left behind in the back room, maybe buried under something. After that, I'm pickin' up some more ink for Seteth 'cause he's running low and the next shipment isn't due for another couple weeks, and then I've gotta check on that order of candles for the next service that Lady Rhea commissioned. We're gonna need a lot more than we have now, in preparation for the holidays."  
  
"That's a lot of candles," Catherine remarks.  
  
Cyril shrugs. "It's a big monastery."  
  
"Fair."  
  
"So, what about you?" Cyril asks. "Another headache?"  
  
"Actually, I'm looking to get a gift," Catherine says. "For Shamir."  
  
"What kinda gift?"  
  
Catherine hadn't thought that far. "Uh…"  
  
"You don't know, do you?" Cyril guesses. Damn, he's good. Or maybe Catherine is just a bad liar.  
  
"I figured I'd know it when I saw it," Catherine lies.  
  
Cyril raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. Well, anyway, if you ask me, you should see if the armory's got any special bowstrings in stock. They do that sometimes, for special occasions."  
  
"Huh." That's a really good idea, actually. "Good plan."  
  
"Thanks." He doesn't smile, but Catherine can tell his mood lifts a little.  
  
"Wonder if I have enough," Catherine muses. "One, two, three, four, five…" She mumbles out loud, counting on her fingers. Cyril watches silently.  
  
"It's just a bowstring, not a bow," Catherine reasons. "So it's probably not gonna cost as much as a whole bow, right?"  
  
"Makes sense to me."  
  
Catherine shrugs and puts the coin purse away. "I'll figure it out when I get there."  
  
The armory is on the way to the medical supply shop, so Cyril goes with Catherine as she goes in to look. Silver fiber bowstrings— Shamir will like those. Catherine counts out again on her fingers how much she has, and then again when she's paying for them, dropping the coins from one hand into the other and then counting up on her fingers _again_ how much she has left. It takes basically all the gold she has on her, but Catherine isn't too fussed about it.  
  
Cyril nods to her when they're leaving the shop. "Why'd you count it all out?" he asks. "Just curious."  
  
"It helps me keep track," Catherine shrugs. "My memory isn't the best, so I can never really be sure if I've got everything unless I double-check."  
  
"Huh." Whatever Cyril gets out of that, Catherine doesn't know, but it's definitely not just curiosity. "Alright. If it works, I guess."  
  
"How much did Seteth give you for the ink?" Catherine asks. "There might be enough left for something you want."  
  
"Nah, I don't want anything," he says. "I'll just buy the ink and give the rest back."  
  
"What about those pastries?" Catherine points out, nodding to the bakery window. "You were looking at them the other day. They look pretty tasty, don't you think?"  
  
"I mean, sure," Cyril admits. "But it'd be rude to buy 'em with Seteth's money when he didn't say I could. And I don't have any, so. No pastries."  
  
"Huh." Something occurs to Catherine. "What if you did?"  
  
Cyril raises an eyebrow. "I'd get 'em, I guess," he says. "Why?"  
  
"Don't worry about it." But what Catherine doesn't say is that it dawns on her then that Byleth is right, and Shamir's been right all along. Something needs to be done.  
  
—  
  
Shamir looks at the package of bowstrings, then back at Catherine. "Is this a bribe?"  
  
"It's a peace offering," Catherine corrects her. "Look, I thought about what we were talking about the other day, about Cyril, and talked to Byleth for a bit, and I realized that you're right."  
  
"Did you, now?" Shamir says, sounding a little surprised.  
  
Catherine nods.  
  
"Alright, well, then," Shamir decides. "Asking Rhea to give him a salary didn't work, so we need another plan."  
  
"I've got one," Catherine says. "So, okay, hear me out. We ask her—"  
  
"Catherine, what did I just say."  
  
"— to give him an allowance."  
  
Shamir blinks. "A what?"  
  
"So, listen," Catherine says, leaning forward in excitement. "When I was a kid— you know I grew up noble, right— my parents wanted me to learn how to manage money. But I didn't want to pay attention in lessons and stuff, so my dad decided that I might learn better if I learned it in a more hands-on kind of way. So he'd give me a little spending money at the start of every month that I could use how I wanted, and it helped a lot, and made me feel really independent and responsible and such. Anyway, I think if we tell Lady Rhea that it'll foster important life skills and such, she'll be _totally_ okay with the idea."  
  
Shamir considers this. "Alright," she concedes. "But if it doesn't work, we're trying my way."  
  
—  
  
"That didn't go that well, did it?"  
  
Shamir gives her a look. "Congratulations, you're getting it."  
  
Catherine scratches her head. "Man, I thought for sure she'd agree," she says. "Alright, partner, what's _your_ plan?"  
  
"It may not work," Shamir warns her. "And it also might require you to… bend the tenets of Seiros and such. Obviously, Rhea absolutely _can't_ find out. And before you say something about how kind she is and that she's sure to be fine with it if we tell her we had good intentions, need I remind you that we already asked her twice and she said no both times? She might not be so lenient on a third count of disobedience, even for us."  
  
Catherine sighs. "Alright, I see your point," she admits. "What's the plan?"  
  
—  
  
Seteth blinks. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"We think Cyril should get paid," Catherine repeats. "Don't you think? He's so young, and he works so hard, and if I did all the work he does, day in and day out, I'd be pretty peeved if I didn't get paid."  
  
"You'd agree that Cyril is a valued member of the Church of Seiros, right?" Shamir adds. "So he should be paid like the rest of us."  
  
"Well, yes, what you're both saying is true," Seteth admits. "And I will confess that I hadn't noticed this… moral discrepancy until now. But if it means this much to both of you, then present your case to the Archbishop, and know that you have my full agreement."  
  
"About that," Catherine says. "We kind of already did."  
  
"Rhea _claims_ that "learning firsthand how the Goddess blesses those who serve Her" is sufficient payment," Shamir says. "And I know Cyril will claim he doesn't need to be paid, either, but he's still a child, no matter what he says or how he acts, and I'm honestly not convinced that he's being looked after the way he needs."  
  
"Ah." If Shamir didn't know any better, she'd say Seteth was almost smiling. "That sounds like a parent's job, Shamir."  
  
"Well, in the _painfully_ obvious absence of parents, in Cyril's case," Shamir says pointedly. "Since the Church took him in, it's our responsibility to take care of him— and not just in providing for his material needs. In order to become an independent and well-adjusted— all things considered— adult, he has to know that he is his own person first and foremost, and if he is expected to give his labor and his time, that he deserves fair compensation."  
  
Catherine's looking at her with something like admiration, her eyes shining. "Well said," she remarks.  
  
Shamir's too heated to really think about it. "Thank you, Catherine," she says nonetheless. She takes a breath before continuing. "So, _Seteth_. Am I correct in assuming there's nothing you can do?"  
  
Seteth sighs. "While I do have _some_ authority over the church finances, I do not have the authority to simply add another name to the roster of salaried employees. Not without the Archbishop's approval."  
  
Catherine deflates. "Figures."  
  
"Yes," Shamir says icily. "It does. Well, then, Seteth, forgive us for wasting your time. Since it seems that the _church_ doesn't intend to care for Cyril in all the ways it ought to, I'll clearly have to take matters into my own hands. Good day to you, Seteth."  
  
She nods politely, turns on her heel, and leaves. She's too composed, just as a person, for most people to call it storming out, but Catherine knows her better than that. She's absolutely storming out.  
  
She looks at Seteth, torn between disappointment and anger. Instead of acting on either of these emotions, she sighs, and nods to him as well. "Thanks anyway, Seteth."  
  
She takes her leave. Seteth watches the door to his office swing shut.  
  
He sighs, opens his desk drawer, and takes out a ledger. Some things simply must be done.  
  
—  
  
Shamir doesn't bother slowing down her strides when she notices Catherine following her. Not that it matters, because Catherine is taller anyway and won't have trouble.  
  
"So, 'taking matters into your own hands,' huh," she says.  
  
"Yes," Shamir says firmly. "You may find this a strange concept, but I didn't get to be as old as I am by blindly following authority. I'm not going to try and convince you to see it my way, though, so you don't have to worry about that."  
  
"I mean," Catherine admits. "It's hard for me to believe that Lady Rhea is doing this deliberately."  
  
"And we disagree on that," Shamir replies. "That's all there is to it. We don't have to be in complete agreement."  
  
"But," Catherine continues. "Look, we all know you're the smart one, of the two of us."  
  
Shamir cracks a smile. "Don't sell yourself short, now."  
  
"So when something is this important to you, gets you _this_ worked up, I know it's not something trivial." Shamir searches her words for her typical braggadocio, but finds only sincerity, lain bare and raw. Unarmored, defenseless— as if she's not afraid of being stabbed right where it hurts the worst.  
  
Maybe that's something Shamir loves about her— something that Shamir herself doesn't have.  
  
She stops. Catherine almost runs into her, but stumbles to a stop just before she does.  
  
"What are you trying to say, Catherine?" she says.  
  
"I'm saying," Catherine replies, a smile stretching across her face. "That I'm gonna bend the tenets of Seiros with you."  
  
—  
  
"Oh! Eight! I think that's a new record," Cyril says proudly, looking up from the arrows filling the straw dummy. "What d'you think, Shamir?"  
  
"Good work today," she says. Can she pat his shoulder, or is that too forward? She settles for one of her small smiles and a nod. "You're really getting the hang of consistency in your form. Draw to the same spot each time, and that way you can work on your aim without anything else in the way."  
  
Cyril nods. He's practically beaming— a rare expression, on him. "I'll aim for nine next time," he says. "If my aim's this good now, then I bet it'll be even better when I practice more."  
  
"That's the goal, yes." It's refreshing having a student who actually knows the value of practice as an investment of time and effort.  
  
"I should probably get goin,'" he says, unstringing his bow. "I usually meet Lysithea in the classroom 'round this time."  
  
"The Golden Deer classroom?" Shamir repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Mind if I ask why?"  
  
"She's been helping me practice my handwriting and stuff," he says, yanking the arrow out of the burlap one tug at a time. "We used to meet in the library, but Lysithea thought it might be nice to have snacks while studying— she says it helps focus the mind, or something— but there's no food allowed there, so."  
  
"Huh." Shamir lets a smile quirk up the corners of her lips. "Sounds nice."  
  
"She's bringing some jam tarts Raphael made, this time," Cyril says. "I've had 'em before. They're kind of ugly and he uses too much butter, but they're pretty good."  
  
"So, Lysithea likes sweet snacks, then," she guesses.  
  
Cyril nods. "I mean, she hasn't said so outright," he admits. "But it's pretty obvious, if you ask me."  
  
"Mm-hmm." Now it all makes sense. "Better not keep her waiting, then. Oh, but before you go."  
  
Cyril frowns. "What's up?"  
  
Shamir hands him a pouch of coins. "From the Archbishop. She says that you're trustworthy enough to have earned some monthly spending money. Think of it as a thank you for all the work you do."  
  
He blinks. "Huh? Aw, I can't accept that. I like working here."  
  
She shrugs. "Rhea insisted. If it makes you feel better, then think of it as a collective thank you, from everyone at the monastery."  
  
Hesitantly, he takes the pouch, then looks back at Shamir, not quite sure what to say. "But… I…"  
  
She puts her hand on his shoulder. If he were anyone else, she'd get lower, make them look straight ahead instead of looking down, but Cyril wouldn't appreciate that. "Cyril, listen to me for a minute," she says. "I know you like working for Rhea. I know you'd do it for free. I know how important she is to you. And trust me, I understand wanting to repay a debt. But you need to know that you're worth more than just your devotion."  
  
Cyril frowns. "I don't think I get it."  
  
"You work hard," she says. "Wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"I mean, yeah, I guess, but—"  
  
"It hasn't gone unnoticed," she says. "You've put in your labor and your time, and those things have value. _You_ have value, Cyril, and it's only right to earn something in return. Does that make sense?"  
  
"I… don't know," he admits. "But you're not usually this verbally nice to me, so I'm gonna believe you. So, um, thanks."  
  
He pauses. "What do I… do with this?" he asks. "What do I buy?"  
  
Shamir shrugs, letting go of his shoulder and tucking her hands in her pockets. "Whatever you want. You don't even have to spend it— you could save it until you find something you really want. But, for what it's worth…" she grins, just a little. "I hear the bakery in town is having a sale."  
  
Before Cyril can figure out what she means, she nods to the building. "Go on, get out," she says. "Better hurry if you're gonna make your date in time."  
  
"Oh! Right." Cyril nods, sticking the pouch in his pocket. "Thanks, Shamir. Same time tomorrow?"  
  
"I'll be here," Shamir promises. She rests an elbow on the training dummy as he scampers off. She wonders if he noticed she called it a date.  
  
Catherine saunters up, leaning on the other side. "So," she says. "I think that went well."  
  
"I think you're right," Shamir agrees. "How does it feel, bending the rules?"  
  
She laughs uneasily. "To be honest? I feel like the Goddess herself is about to descend upon me with divine wrath for lying like that. You know that's a direct breach of her tenets. _'Do not kill, harm, lie, or steal'_ and all that."  
  
Shamir hums. "Yes, true," she admits. "But you're forgetting something— _'The Goddess will never deny the splendors of love, affection, joy,'_ et cetera, et cetera."  
  
Catherine frowns. "What about them?"  
  
"Think of it like we're bringing them about," Shamir shrugs. "Really not much She can do in that case."  
  
"I guess you're right," Catherine admits. For a moment they share the companionable silence, until Catherine breaks it.  
  
"Can he count?" she asks. "I mean, dumb question, but it's kind of important."  
  
"Oh, he can," Shamir replies. "He counts up the bulls-eyes he gets when we practice and compares them to the last time. You know, I see him count on his fingers a lot— sounds like someone I know."  
  
"What, me?" Catherine repeats. She snorts. "Nah, I haven't taught him anything. You know me, I'm better with numbers if I can see 'em."  
  
"Sure, sure." Shamir lets it go. "Did you know he's been meeting up in the Golden Deer classroom with Lysithea?"  
  
Catherine raises an eyebrow. "I did not know that," she remarks.  
  
"She's teaching him to read," Shamir says. "And apparently they share snacks while doing it. Lysithea is a fan of pastries, but you didn't hear it from me."  
  
"Well, now, _that_ explains why he was looking at those scones!" she realizes. "Heh, that's cute. And Lysithea's a sweet girl— a good match, if you ask me."  
  
"Which nobody did."  
  
"Of course. Not our business."  
  
Catherine looks back at Shamir. "So," she says. "How'd you like those bowstrings? Silver fiber, pretty snazzy, huh?"  
  
"One of them broke when I tried to nock an arrow," Shamir replies.  
  
Catherine looks outraged. "What! I paid good coin for those! They were _expensive!"_  
  
Shamir chuckles. "It's the thought that counts."  
  
—  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Oh, hey, looks like Seteth's office is still pretty intact," Lysithea notices. "Guess there wasn't anything of value in here."  
  
"Unless some thieves wanted a bunch of old papers," Cyril agrees. Out of curiosity, he pulls open the desk drawer and takes out the ledger inside, leafing through the vellum pages. It's all stuff Cyril doesn't understand in Seteth's fancy old script, but if he looks, he can hazard a guess what it is.  
  
"Finance reports," he notes. "Monthly reports of tuitions, donations, expenses, and wages. That's… a lot of numbers."  
  
"Money usually involves lots of them," Lysithea hums. "Let me see that?" Cyril hands her the ledger. She brushes off the dust despite there not being any there, the page having been safely tucked inside a drawer and all, and squints at Seteth's penmanship.  
  
"Hey," she says. "Your name isn't on here. But you got paid, right?"  
  
"Not until the months before the war started," Cyril replies.  
  
"Well, yeah, I remember," Lysithea nods. "But this is for Red Wolf Moon, 1180. You started getting your salary in _Horsebow_ Moon."  
  
Cyril frowns. "Huh? That doesn't make sense."  
  
"I agree," she says. "Wait, hold on— it seems Catherine and Shamir both got substantial raises at about the same time. I wonder if it's connected?"  
  
Cyril doesn't know, but he thinks he can guess that, too. Despite himself, he smiles.  
  
Lysithea raises an eyebrow. "Something funny?"  
  
"Don't worry about it," he promises. "Just… found the answer to an old question."

**Author's Note:**

> edit as of Literally The Fucking Night I Posted This: wow yall really like this, if anyone else happens to read this then my twitter is @detectiveryanz. follow for memes, video games, or just to get to know the sad little man behind the curtain. if i don't immediately recognize your name/you don't tell me who you are right away i won't answer your dms jsyk


End file.
